


Bright Blue Skies

by ypurisetsuki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Romance, pilot AU, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ypurisetsuki/pseuds/ypurisetsuki
Summary: In which Yuuri almost misses his flight and meets a very handsome pilot in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noenoaholi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noenoaholi/gifts).



> This work is based on noenoaholi's Pilot!AU on Tumblr. Not sure I am doing it justice but I am trying :')
> 
> Please go give [ her](http://noenoaholi.tumblr.com) some love!
> 
> I took some liberties with the original story and of course with real life airport interactions and situations, don't sue me, it's all in good fun. This fic is going to be a monster, I can just feel it.
> 
> If you wanna visit me as well, here are my tumblrs! [Writing](http://ypurisetsuki.tumblr.com), [Main](http://ppeakyblinder.tumblr.com)

_I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!_

  
Yuuri’s fingers drummed a rapid beat on his knee as he tried not to vibrate out of the taxi seat with his nerves. The taxi had been stopped in the same traffic light for two light changes already and the elderly driver did not seem to be inclined to drive more aggressively to sort through the rush-hour traffic.

He should have left earlier, he knew that, but his dog Vicchan had been whimpering pathetically throughout the night and he had to book an emergency vet appointment really early in the morning for him. Vicchan had to stay at the vet for observation, and Yuuri had to rush home to finish packing all the while trying to find someone who could take care of his dog while he was away.

He eventually managed to get ahold of Minako-sensei who agreed to go to the vet later in the day to check on his sick dog, but by that time he had only a couple of hours to make it to the airport, document his luggage and find his boarding gate. He hurried out of the house and onto the street and hailed the first cab that drove past.

Ten minutes later they hit a wall of traffic. Traffic they had been stuck in ever since.

“Maybe you should’ve taken the train, sir,” the taxi driver commented as they finally made it out of that particularly congested block and into a clearer street. Yuuri felt his soul leave his body at the comment. Of course, he should have thought about that. He could have been at the airport by now.

The taxi continued its snail crawl to the airport, and after a while Yuuri was able to see the traffic signs signaling the next exit to Terminal 1.

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed and checked his watch. He still had forty-five minutes to make it to the gate. He could do this.

The taxi driver stopped the car outside the airport gates and went around the car to get Yuuri’s luggage. As soon as his hand was on the handle of his suitcase he began sprinting to the Aeroflot counter. It took a while to find it but the line was still going, thankfully, so he was not the only late-comer that would cause trouble.

He queued behind a group of business men, and began taking account of his personal items.

_Suitcase, check._  
_Phone, check._  
_Charger, check._  
_Passport, check._  
_Boarding pass…_  
_Huh, maybe in this pocket._

Yuuri emptied his jacket pockets to no avail. Then he checked his pants pockets.

Nothing.

He felt a sudden chill run down his back and his stomach contort painfully.

The mental image of his printed boarding pass sitting innocently on the kitchen table seemed to mock him. In his haste to be out the door he had not gone back to the kitchen that morning.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered under his breath.

By now the only people between him and the counter were the business men so there was no point in skipping the line to go to the counter, he would get there soon.

He was eventually called forward and he approached the counter, his face burning with mortification.

“May I see your passport and your boarding pass, please?” the attending lady requested.

“Um, I’m sorry but I seem to have forgotten my boarding pass at home, could you print it again for me?” he asked nervously.

The lady shot him a bored look.

“I’m sorry sir, but we do not print boarding passes here. If you want to reprint your boarding pass you are going to need to find an automatic printing station. I can give you directions to the closest one if you wish,” she said.

“Yes, I’d like that. Where is it?” Yuuri asked. He felt himself breathe a little easier now that there was a solution to his problem. He might still not lose his flight.

“Do you have a pen?” the lady asked.

 

 

 

It turned out that the printing station was almost on the other side of the terminal. Yuuri had to weave between countless kiosks selling overpriced sleeping masks and neck pillows, and people wrapping their luggage in rolls of plastic film before he found the tiny ATM-like machine hidden in a corner.

By the time he managed to input all his flight data into the machine and got his printed boarding pass he only had fifteen minutes to make it back to the Aeroflot counter, document his suitcase, get through migration and hurry to the boarding gate.

He ran all the way back to the counter, bumping into countless of people and apologizing to the air, not even bothering to turn around to see if they were okay. His suitcase was heavy, but the lady at the counter refused to keep it with her while he printed his boarding pass. It was against airport regulations, she had said, so Yuuri had to trudge around the airport with it trailing behind him, slowing him down.

When he made it back, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, despite being pretty fit as an athlete, the Aeroflot counter was mostly empty, except for the woman that had pointed him to the printing machine. Even then, she seemed to be gathering her things to leave.

“Wait!” Yuuri all but exclaimed, ignoring the queue barriers and going around them to the front of the counters. He placed his hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath.

“I have my boarding pass,” he said between pants.

“I am sorry sir but documentation is now closed,” she said, not stopping to put her things away and tidying up the counter. “It is advised to arrive three hours before international flights so that you will not run into all this trouble.”

Yuuri felt like crying. This could not be happening to him.

“You don’t understand, I have to make it on this flight,” Yuuri pleaded. “I have a skating scholarship in Saint Petersburg. If I don’t make it to the meeting with the university they will withdraw it.”

The lady shot him a pitying look, but did not take his luggage. “I am sorry to hear this sir, but there is nothing I can do. The airplane gates close ten minutes before departure.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands, willing himself not to cry. “This is not happening.”

“Is there a problem here?” he heard a male voice ask.

Yuuri removed his hands from his face and turned to the source of the sound. What greeted his eyes was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Tall and lean, impeccably dressed in an Aeroflot pilot uniform, the man’s eyes shined like sapphires and his platinum hair was gelled back from his face and perfectly styled under his uniform hat. It seemed like the entire airport population had stopped what they were doing to turn and gawk as the handsome pilot approached Yuuri and the counter lady. Yuuri’s neck began prickling at all that attention, fighting the urge to run and hide.

“Captain Nikiforov!” the lady exclaimed, suddenly looking very flustered. She adjusted her neck scarf nervously as she shot the pilot a timid smile. “I was just telling this passenger that we can no longer document his luggage since the plane is about to leave.”

The pilot hummed, putting a finger to his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well, the plane is twenty minutes late and they cannot leave without me anyway, who is going to pilot it then?” He chuckled. “So maybe you could do an exception this time, Kristina?” Captain Nikiforov asked, sending her a wink. “It will be our little secret~”

Yuuri watched as a deep blush ran on the lady’s face from forehead to the patch of neck visible above her neck scarf. Yuuri could sympathize. It was one thing to be that handsome, but no one had the right to be so charming on top of it.

“O-of course, Captain Nikiforov!” Kristina chirped, then turned to Yuuri, her demeanor completely changed. With a bright smile on her face she extended her hand to grab his documents. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Mister…”

“Katsuki,” Yuuri finished for her, handing her his boarding pass and passport, and setting his suitcase on the weighing machine.

“Your boarding gate is 13B, do you need directions to reach it?” she asked, but as soon as Yuuri opened his mouth to speak, the good-looking Captain interrupted him.

“I’ll take him, I am heading that way too,” he said, shooting Yuuri a wink as well before starting to walk away.

Yuuri felt like his entire face was aflame as he hurried after him. He had the vague idea of hearing Kristina wish them a safe flight as they left but he could not be sure, too preoccupied with keeping up with the handsome pilot and willing himself to _breathe_.

“Uh, t-thank you very much, Captain Nikiforov,” Yuuri mumbled, staring down at the boarding pass clutched on his hands.

The captain waved his hand in dismissal but smiled brightly at Yuuri. “None of that. Call me Victor, please.”

Yuuri squawked, temporarily blinded by the brightness of that smile. How could someone be so handsome? When he recuperated though, he managed to mumble, “I couldn’t…”

“Huh? Why not?” Victor asked, genuine confusion softening his features.

Yuuri thought it was adorable.

Yuuri’s face felt hotter than the surface of the sun.

He only managed another pained noise as an answer and pretended to be engrossed on his newly printed boarding pass. Not only had this extremely attractive airline captain saved him from missing his flight, and his scholarship with it, he had also volunteered to escort him to the plane. All while Yuuri basically made an ass out of himself by being every airline’s nightmare passenger with his carelessness, and now he was asking Yuuri to call him by name?

It was too mortifying.

“I know! What is your first name?” Captain Nikif—no, Victor asked.

“Y-Yuuri,” Yuuri replied shyly, not tearing his eyes away from the troublesome piece of paper. It was really hard to think coherently around the other man, and the least he had to look at his beautiful face the better for Yuuri’s overall wellbeing and sanity.

“Then I’ll call you Yuuri and you can call me Victor! Is that okay?” the pilot asked, beaming.

Yuuri flushed even harder at the thought of such a good-looking, charming man being in friendly terms with him, but nodded nonetheless. It was harmless, really. He would get to Pulkovo Airport and never see this handsome stranger again. At the most they would manage to address each other a couple of times before they went their separate ways on the airplane, and even that was unlikely with how shy Yuuri was.

They went through migration. Victor was ushered past without much fuss since he was a pilot, though Yuuri had to go through the entire security procedure. Yuuri thought Victor would have gone on ahead, but when he finished gathering his things, the other man was right there waiting for him.

Victor smiled at him, and pointed to the right side of the hallway with an extended hand. “This way, Yuuri.”  
  
They walked the remaining distance in silence and were standing in front of the boarding gate in no time. It was pretty much deserted, except for a couple flight attendants lingering behind. They visibly relaxed when they saw their captain approaching, and Yuuri felt a twinge of guilt at being the cause of the delay. Victor waited until Yuuri handed his boarding pass over to be scanned and let him walk in front of him through the tunnel leading to the plane.

He could hear the flight attendants bickering with the pilot about always taking his sweet time, and the other man replying with a placating laugh and promises to do better next time.

Once in the plane, Yuuri turned back to face Victor and the flight attendants, bowing down ninety degrees. “It was all my fault, I am so sorry for delaying everyone.”

“Ah, stop that, Yuuri,” Victor fretted over him. “It’s nothing, really. Please stand up.”

Yuuri rose from his bow but was still looking down, ashamed.

“Please don’t worry,” one of the flight attendants, a pretty, young woman with red hair down to her shoulders placated him. “This big idiot here,” she pointed to Victor, “Is late more often than not. I am sure you were not the cause of his tardiness.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, if he wasn’t such a good pilot and so popular with the passengers he would’ve been fired ages ago,” the other flight attendant, this time a man with a brooding face and dark hair with a quiff, continued.

“Mila, Georgi, why are you so mean to me?” Victor exclaimed, raising a hand to his chest as if physically wounded.

“Because you are a self-absorbed git,” a voice behind Yuuri exclaimed. When he turned, he saw a young-looking man, probably just barely out of his teens, with long blond hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing the flight attendant uniform, and a rather murderous scowl on his face.  
  
“Yuuuuriii not you too!” Victor whined and pouted at the youngster, who merely scoffed at him and left towards the inside of the plane, grumbling about idiotic, good-for-nothing pilots.

“Huh?” Yuuri asked, confused.

“Oh, his name is also Yuri,” Victor cleared, then his brow furrowed. “But if we are going to be friends that is going to be a problem…”

“I’m closing the door,” Georgi deadpanned, bringing Victor out of his musings.

“Right! Time to leave. Guys, could one of you take Yuuri to his seat?” he asked them sweetly.

The flight attendants seemed completely unimpressed with his antics, though they recuperated quickly, and Mila pasted on a smile and offered to take him.

“This way, please,” she called.

“Yuuri, wait!” Victor exclaimed just as Yuuri was about to follow Mila.

He turned around to look at Victor, who beamed at him.

“Have a nice flight,” he said.  
  
Yuuri smiled back, nodding.  
  
“I’m sure it will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I am so sorry for my absence, I've been busier in the past 2 weeks than I've ever been in my life. Thankfully you have dear [noenoaholi](http://noenoaholi.tumblr.com/) keeping me in check.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone that left kudos and comments. I have read every single one of them and they really motivate me! I hope this story continues to be to your liking!
> 
> Again I must apologize for the slightly filler-y chapter. There will be more exciting things in the following chapters I promise! :)

Yuuri woke up to the beep of the seatbelt alert. He looked around, bleary eyed and noticed how everyone was locking their trays and setting their seats upright. His own tray was up since he had basically gone comatose the second the seatbelt sign went off and he was allowed to recline his seat, foregoing the offered in-flight meal completely. The excitement of those eventful hours in the airport had really drained him and even without that rollercoaster of a morning, he had been exhausted from watching Vicchan all night.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He made clumsy work of fastening his seatbelt and reached for the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him to grab his passport and migration form. He tucked them safely into his jacket pocket, the scare of his boarding pass still too fresh in his mind, and waited for the plane to land. He got a window seat this time, and through the small oval window he could see the dark blue evening sky give way to an urban landscape significantly different from the one back home. The buildings beneath shone brightly in-between a grid of artificial light divided by the city’s countless rivers and canals, and there was a sense of openness that he had not seen in cities in Japan.

Eventually, the night landscape of St Petersburg gave way to the asphalt and greenery of the runway and Yuuri felt the telltale bump of the landing gear make contact with the ground before the plane straightened forward, gradually losing speed on the long strip. Some restless passengers began unbuckling their seatbelts despite the seatbelt signal still being on, though most were cautious enough not to try standing from their seats yet.

“Dear passengers, please remain seated and with your seatbelt on until the aircraft stops moving completely. We appreciate your consideration,” an unfamiliar male voice called over the speakers.

A few passengers grumbled at the instructions but remained seated anyway. The exception were a couple of kids that bounced eagerly on their seats, bickering as they pushed one another in order to see through the tiny window on the other side of the aircraft. Yuuri smiled at their childish wonder. He used to get window seats because of the excitement of watching the ground give way to sky and back to ground again. Nowadays he chooses them in order to sleep undisturbed throughout the flight without people needing to jump over him to use the restroom.

A couple moments later the plane stopped completely and the speakers buzzed back to life. This time Yuuri recognized the voice as belonging to Victor. He was not the only one apparently, because he heard a group of girls squealing a few rows in front of him. Huh, the flight attendants were not lying about his popularity then.

“Ladies and Gentlemen this is your captain speaking. We have arrived to our destination, Pulkovo Airport, St. Petersburg. The local time is 6:25 p.m. and the weather is a bit chilly so make sure to bring your jackets along. Have a wonderful stay and thank you for flying Aeroflot.”

As soon as the speakers cut out the seatbelt sign flashed off, the inside of the aircraft erupted into a flurry of people and bags being taken out from under seats and from overhead compartments. Yuuri remained seated through it all, knowing full well that there was no point in hurrying out only to stand still on the alley for minutes while someone a few rows in front of him wrestled his or her bag free while thirty people behind them waited impatiently.

Eventually the crowd thinned out and Yuuri was able to stand and gather his things. The way down the alley was still slow-going, and he spent the entire time trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. Sometimes the captain and the first officer would leave the control cabin to greet the passengers, right? Maybe he would catch another glimpse of Victor.

When he reached the front of the aircraft though, only the flight assistants stood there. The girl from before, Mila, must have caught his disappointment expression because she shot him a sympathetic smile as he mumbled his thanks and made his way out of the plane, his shoulders hunched.

It was fine, Yuuri told himself. This is how it was supposed to end since the beginning. He had even come to terms with it while walking through the airport with the captain, so why was he getting so upset about it now? It was nothing but a pipe dream, and it was time to wake up.

Migration was a blur, and eventually he made it out and into the baggage claim area. Grabbing his things, he did another sweep of the room trying to spot the elusive pilot, to no avail. He caught himself sighing sadly and mentally slapped himself. _You’re here for a complete different matter, Katsuki! Stop pining!_

He made it through customs without a problem, and exited onto the main area of the airport. He barely glanced at the people standing behind the barrier holding signs with names written in marker on them. There was no one coming to get him, so he might as well locate the closest exit and hail a taxi.

“Yuuri!” he heard someone call, and he was suddenly almost tackled to the ground in a rib-cracking hug.

“Phichit!” he exclaimed, and hugged his friend back, not before adjusting his grip on the slipping handle of his suitcase. It was no exaggeration that he was almost thrown off his feet from the force of the hug. “What are you doing here?”

His friend huffed and let him go. “Picking you up, of course. I can’t have you getting swindled trying to grab a taxi here. Come on!”

They went to exchange some of Yuuri’s yen for rubles and then Phichit led him to the bus stop. Outside the cold air cut into Yuuri’s cheeks and he closed his jacket all the way to the top, burying his face on the collar.

Phichit noticed and grinned at him. “This is nothing, wait until it actually snows.”

Yuuri groaned, making his friend laugh. As an ice-skater, the cold was not a problem for him generally, but Japan did not get anywhere near as cold as Russia could get. Usually the air inside the rink was colder than the one outside, and he was not looking forward to the opposite situation, at least for the following few months. Winter still had some months to go before it gave way to spring.

The bus arrived not long after, and both skaters climbed into the warmer interior of the vehicle, managing to secure adjacent seats before the bus sped away and into the city. Once seated, Phichit took his phone out and without really warning Yuuri, snapped a selfie of both of them. 

Yuuri tried to grab the phone out of Phichit’s hands, but his friend was faster, snatching the offending device away from Yuuri’s reach where he began switching through filters for it on Instagram. If he had not seen how hard he practiced firsthand, Yuuri would have sworn the other took social media more seriously than skating with how often he updated all his accounts.

“So how was your trip?” Phichit asked, fingers typing out hashtags a mile a minute and eyes not leaving his phone.

Yuuri sighed. “You would not believe what happened to me.”

At Yuuri’s words Phichit put his phone down. If there was anything his friend loved more than skating and social media it was gossiping.

“Tell me all about it,” he requested, eyes twinkling.

Yuuri sighed again. Where should he start?

 

 

 

After getting settled into the dorms (he was luckily rooming with Phichit) and getting a brief tour of the campus, Yuuri made his way into the main administrative building for his meeting. Phichit escorted him to the meeting room, giving him a pat on the back and a reassuring smile before throwing his friend to the wolves, or at least it felt that way for Yuuri.

Some minutes later Yuuri exited the meeting room, a haunted look on his face. In seconds Phichit was next to him, throwing him a worried look and an arm over his shoulder as they walked.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“They want me to do a presentation of my skills,” Yuuri replied. “Apparently it is required of everyone on sports scholarships.”

Phichit hummed. “I remember that. Well, it’s not like you can’t just use one of your previous programs…”

“Yakov Feltsman is going to be one of the judges,” Yuuri deadpanned.

“Oh crap,” agreed Phichit with a shudder.

Yakov Feltsman was one of the best skating coaches not only in Russia but in the whole world. Everyone that trained under him made it into the podium of the major skating competitions at least a handful of times, some of them taking over the first three positions for years on end. Part of the reason why Yuuri had agreed to the scholarship was because he was known to be a consulting coach in the university, and was no stranger to taking an interest on students to coach personally. While it would be an honor to meet the man, Yuuri was not thrilled at the opportunity having happened all of a sudden.

“I’m not ready!” Yuuri wailed, seconds away from a meltdown.

Phichit stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Yuuri. He grabbed the other boy by the cheeks and aligned their eyes to the same level.

“You can do this, Yuuri,” he declared. “I believe in you.”

Yuuri still felt uncertain but he forced himself to nod at his friend’s words. It was not like he had not competed on the international arena with just as much if not more pressure upon his shoulders before. He wanted to chalk this wave of nervousness on the jet-lag, and the instability of having to move his entire life to another country, but he always got nervous when it was time to showcase his skills, despite being confident in them in practice. He would just have to power through it as any other time in the past.

“Can you take me to the ice rink? I still have some time to warm up and practice for a bit,” he said after a deep, calming breath.

Phichit grinned brightly at him.

“Now, that’s the Yuuri I know! Follow me.”

 

 

 

The moment the engines on the plane were turned off Victor let out a huge sigh, stretching on his chair like a particularly lazy cat. 

“Well, that was tiring,” he mumbled, standing from the pilot’s seat.

“Are you growing weary in your old age, Victor?” asked his first officer, teasingly.

“Ha ha, you’re barely younger than me, Chris,” Victor replied, reaching for his cap and arranging it on top of his head, making sure no hair was out of place. “And I know fake concern when I hear it. You just want to take over the left seat.”

“Well, if you’re ever tired again…” Chris winked at him.

“You’ve got to earn your stripes first,” Victor sing-sang with a bright smile, making Chris pout.

“Not fair! One day we’ll switch places and you will have to call me ‘Captain’”, he declared, making Victor chuckle as they walked out of the control cabin and out of the plane.

“As if you ever call me ‘Captain’.”

He felt Chris catch up with him and sneak a hand around his waist, dangerously close to his butt. Christophe Giacometti had always been a very touchy person, even back then when they had just met on their first flight together, though it did not bother Victor very much, being very tactile himself. Everyone knew though that his friend had no sense of personal space—or decency. Sometimes he means something by it, but mostly he doesn’t. He is just Chris.

“Oh well, then let me take my ‘Captain’ drinking tonight as an apology. Yuri just told me about this club where his friend DJs at. I’ll buy the first round, what do you say?”

While he said this his hand rubbed insistently on Victors hip, and he fluttered his ridiculously long lashes at him.

Victor grinned back at him. “You know I can’t say no to a good party. Text me the address?” 

Chris gave his ass a cheeky slap just before they were out of the tunnel and had to separate. They still represented the airline’s image after all, and could not be seen goofing around in uniform.

“I’m glad we could see eye to eye, ‘Captain’.”

Victor tipped his hat in his first officer’s direction, before making his own way around the airport. He smiled at the passing flight attendants, both from his same airline and those wearing different uniforms, making the girls swoon. He scanned the baggage claim area, though none of the bands showed the Aeroflot flight number anymore. A glance down at his watch had him frowning seconds later.

He had missed that cute Japanese guy from before.

 

 

 

Yuuri’s performance was a disaster.

As soon as he stepped into the rink he spotted three judges, one of them being Yakov. The balding man’s stare was severe and calculating, and Yuuri, who still had his glasses on, could feel as it bore holes into his very soul. Aside from the judges, a few people gathered in the stands to watch: students and some big wigs from the university who had come to see the outcome. To say he was nervous was an understatement.

It had not been that bad Yuuri reasoned in retrospect, as he laid face down on his dorm bed, Phichit trying and failing to cheer him up. His step sequence had been flawless, it was his strongest point anyway, but he hesitated at the last second before jumping and his triple axel attempt had him falling and slamming against the barrier. He had risen to his feet quickly and continued the program, but the damage was already done. The rest of his jumps had been okay, except for a sloppy landing on his triple loop.

When he finished, he was told to change while the judges delivered and he practically ran away to the changing rooms. He stalled as much as he could without being rude, and a few minutes later he was standing in front of the panel of judges, awaiting their verdict. That had not been fun.

“He hated it,” Yuuri almost sobbed, his voice muffled against the pillows.

“I’m pretty sure Yakov looks that grumpy all the time,” Phichit tried to console him, “besides, your step sequence was amazing, and they said your scholarship stands.”

“They also said that I need to get my head on right, or fix whatever it was that made me mess up that badly,” Yuuri added.

“Well, that is true, but hey, you’re staying. That’s what counts,” Phichit countered. “And as such, we should go out to celebrate!”

Yuuri let out a long wail and buried his face deeper into the pillow.

“Come ooon, Yuuri!” Phichit pleaded. “You deserve it. Besides, maybe you can snag a hot Russian that helps you forget about that dashing Aeroflot pilot, hm?” 

Yuuri threw his pillow at him, revealing his beet red face.

“Will you ever let it go?” he asked.

Phichit grinned like a Cheshire cat and threw the pillow back with much less force than his friend.

“Never. Now get dressed. We are going out!”

Yuuri groaned, but stood up and did as was asked.

“Just don’t let me drink too much.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait. Sadly, my job requires me to take many hand-written notes, and my hands and fingers ache all throughout the week, hence why I can only write on weekends and the updates are so slow. There is a small nod to Otayuri in this chapter because I love them to the moon and back, but I am not making this story about them, we shall only focus on the Victuuri :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this one. It is slightly longer, since [noenoaholi](http://noenoaholi.tumblr.com/) suggested longer chapters. I would also like to thank her for not stabbing me for butchering her AU and turning this into another version of it because I am apparently an idiot that does not read things properly.
> 
> Anyways, happy reading!

The club Phichit dragged him to was absolutely packed. It was apparently very popular with the young crowd in St. Petersburg judging by the long line by the side of the door, running down the sidewalk until it disappeared around the corner. Thankfully, Yuuri and Phichit moved quickly to the front and after showing their IDs to the bouncer they found themselves surrounded by the darkness of the club, the way through illuminated by purple neon lights on the floor. Yuuri could already feel his chest thrum to the beat of the bass even from the vestibule where they dropped their coats off at a locker, the music bouncing off the walls as they made their way to the main room.

Inside, the club seemed to pulse with the energy from the gyrating bodies on the dancefloor, which was on a lower platform at the center of the room, with the DJ-booth to the front of the club and the bar to the side. All around it stood half-circle booths with purple cushions and circular metallic tables in the middle. Most of them were occupied but Yuuri felt Phichit tugging him towards a newly freed one relatively close to the bar, pushing him to sit first before sliding in after him.

“Watch the table and I’ll get us some drinks, okay?” Phichit told him before making his way to the bar, not even waiting for an answer.

Yuuri stared at the table, nervously tugging at the sleeves of his dress shirt while waiting for his friend to come back. Condensation rings from the previous occupants stained the dark silver surface of the table, the water vibrating along with the bass of the song. Raising his eyes he could see Phichit talking animatedly with the bartender, while the man artfully mixed something for them. To distract himself, he focused on the music for a little while. It was relatively familiar, consisting mostly of remixes of popular songs that were currently playing in the radio all over the world, with the occasional intervention of the DJs original mixes. His foot began moving up and down to the beat.

When Phichit returned, he was carrying two bright red and orange colored drinks in tall glasses with straws and a shot glass with a clear liquid cradled in both pinkies. He motioned at Yuuri to relieve the load of one hand, grabbing the remaining shot glass with his other hand and setting them down on the table.

Yuuri eyed the drinks with apprehension, giving the reddish one a whiff and shooting his friend a confused look. “What even is this?”

“No idea!” exclaimed Phichit over the noise in the club. “The bartender recommended it. But this, my friend,” he pointed at the shot glass, “is vodka. We cannot have you living in Russia before you try the real stuff.”

Before Yuuri could make another face, Phichit was raising his shot glass and Yuuri found himself doing the same seconds later, mirroring his friend’s excited grin with a nervous smile.

“To my best friend earning that skating scholarship!” toasted Phichit, and downed his shot of vodka.

Yuuri was quick to follow, coughing as the strong alcohol burned all the way to his stomach, warming his insides. He twisted his mouth and squinted at Phichit but his friend just laughed.

“I have to warn you though,” Phichit started, “this is not the way you’re supposed to drink it, but I couldn’t find anything to eat to go with it here.”

“I cannot imagine anything that could make that experience any less unpleasant,” Yuuri countered, reaching for his mysterious drink and taking a sip. He was surprised to find it tasted fairly fruity and refreshing, without the bitterness of the underlying alcohol one often found in mixed drinks.

“You know, this is actually pretty good,” he told Phichit, and his friend beamed taking a deep sip from his own straw.

After that they talked for a while. Phichit told Yuuri all about his stay in St. Petersburg—since he had arrived six months before him—and about how he had adopted three hamsters that someone else in the dorm had to leave behind after their exchange program was over. He talked about his coach Celestino Cialdini, who would soon coach Yuuri too, and how he had been talking about choreographing a new program for him for the upcoming competitions.

In return, Yuuri told him about his training back in Japan, how he had to switch coaches halfway through the year because his old coach retired, and how he did not really click with the new one. He told Phichit about his family back in Hasetsu and about how business has been slow at the hot springs. Then he told him about Vicchan and how he still had no news about him, whether good or bad.

By then both had finished their drinks and their throats felt dry because of all the screaming they had to do in order to be heard over the music.

“Do you want a refill?” asked Phichit, watching Yuuri sip at the melted water from the ice.

Yuuri thought about it for a moment, then shrugged with a smile. “Might as well, this is very good.”

Phichit gave the empty glasses to a waiter passing nearby and stood up. “Okay, but after this one we are going dancing.”

Yuuri gave him a nervous laugh, neither accepting nor declining. While he was fairly educated in dance—mainly ballet though he did some studying on other genres because it helped with his routines on the ice—he was not very confident on the type of easy-going, usually sensual dance that was normal to clubs. His friends usually told him he did fine during the few times he had agreed to go out and that he was actually quite good, but he had always been self-conscious about it. When Phichit got something into his head though, Yuuri would end up agreeing to go through with it one way or another, despite his nervousness. They had come to a club after all.

While waiting for Phichit Yuuri noticed the club had suddenly gotten much more crowded. The people on the dancefloor seemed to be almost overflowing into the tables’ area, with a group of girls almost bumping into their table with how close they were dancing.

Phichit made his way back, his hands busy with those red-orange drinks, while trying not to trip into anyone. Once he was finally seated he handed Yuuri his drink and raised his own to his lips, taking a sip from the straw.

“So how is your night looking? Are you feeling more relaxed now?”

Yuuri took a sip of his own drink, mulling the question over. He definitely felt relaxed. It might had been the alcohol he’d ingested so far, but his body felt boneless, and he no longer felt himself obsessively going over the mistakes in his presentation like before. There was a buzz between his ears that thrummed along to the loud music in the club, and what previously had been only his foot moving under the table had turned into his entire leg bouncing to the rhythm of the song currently playing.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he replied. “Thank you for distracting me, Phichit.”

“Anytime, Yuuri,” his friend told him with a kind smile, but then his smile turned devilish. “I saw you looking around. Did you spot anyone cute?”

Yuuri could feel his ears heating up at the teasing. “N-no! I was just noticing how packed it’s gotten, nothing else.”

Yuuri saw more than heard Phichit groan in disappointment at the lack of excitement. He moved to sit closer to his friend in order to hear him better, the cheap fabric of the sofas clinging to his pants as he slid to the right. Was the music getting louder or was it just him?

He was about to open his mouth to say something when one of the girls dancing next to them stumbled into their table, knocking into it and spilling a bit of their drinks, some of it running down to the edge of the table and spilling on Yuuri’s pants. Upon seeing that they were foreigners she tried to apologize in heavily-accented English.

“I am very sorry!” she said, shooting them an apologetic look, while her friends passed tequila shots around that a waiter had brought over. There seemed to be some extras because she looked at their spilled drinks and before they knew it, a pair of tequila shots stood in front of them.

“Sorry about your drinks!” she exclaimed and her friends gave sheepish waves behind her, each holding their shots. “These are for you.”

Both Phichit and Yuuri tried to assure her this was not necessary, Yuuri’s pants were dark anyway and the stain would not show, but she waved them off with a laugh. She and her friends looked already fairly inebriated already but they held their glasses up, urging them to drink with them.

Yuuri turned to look at Phichit who, after a moment of confusion, smiled and shrugged before downing his shot. Not wanting to come off as rude, Yuuri followed suit, regretting it immediately when the tequila burned hotter than the vodka going down, leaving an aftertaste that took over his mouth moments after having swallowed.

He drank more of his colorful drink to chase it, but not even a minute later the girl was tugging at his arm, while another girl already had pulled Phichit out of his seat.

“Dance with us!” the girls told them, pulling them into the dance floor.

Phichit took a large gulp of his drink, foregoing the straw entirely and let himself be pulled.

“Come on, Yuuri! We were going to dance anyway!”

Yuuri looked at the girl tugging at him with barely masked apprehension but after taking a big sip of his drink and setting it down he followed her, managing to slot himself right next to his friend, fearful that he might lose him in the sea of people.

Having stood so suddenly made his head spin, and he almost stumbled into the girl that had grabbed his friend, laughing as he tried to regain his balance. The girl did not seem to mind, laughing with him and beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of the music.

Not wanting to be a wet blanket, Yuuri began taking small steps left and right, growing more and more comfortable with the music as the minutes trickled by. In no time he was pulling much more confident moves, hips rotating to the beat and arms going up to pump in synchrony to the music.

One of the girls dragged him closer to her, stealing him away from Phichit’s side to dance with her and Yuuri found himself surprisingly not caring. He even brought his hand down to undo a couple of buttons on his dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves, since the amount of people on the dancefloor turned the air hot and stifling. He was having fun dancing with the girls. He was not particularly interested in any of them, but they were good dancers and would often pull Yuuri and the girl he was dancing with back into the group, organizing small coordinated dances which made all of them burst into fits of giggles when someone messed up. His belly was warm with alcohol and laughter and his head felt light, lighter than it had felt in a long time. His glasses were getting foggy and the room would spin every once in a while, but he was not thinking about any of that. It was just him, the music and his body moving to the steady beat blasting from the speakers.

There was a slight lull in the music, the next song turning slightly slower, and Yuuri noticed he felt a bit thirsty. He signaled getting a drink to Phichit and made his way back to the table. However, he found himself frozen in place when he got to the edge of the dance floor.

Their table was no longer empty, though their glasses still were on it, sharing the surface with a bottle of vodka. Around the booth were seated two men, one of them with fluffy blonde hair and impossibly long lashes. He was talking animatedly with the other man, who had soft silver hair falling stylishly over one eye. He was very attractive, Yuuri thought, looking vaguely like that Aeroflot pilot Yuuri had met in the airport.

Not wanting to start anything though, Yuuri rushed back to the protective circle of girls and Phichit.

“What’s wrong?” Phichit asked him, concerned.

“There’s someone at our table,” Yuuri told him, his words slurring slightly. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he?

“Oh, I’ll go sort it out,” Phichit told him, a placating smile on his face, and before Yuuri could stop him, he was making his way back to the table.

Yuuri had the vague thought that maybe that was not that great of an idea, but shrugged it off. The girls had ordered another round of shots anyway, and he downed his, the burn no longer bothering him as his body surrendered to the music.

 

  
Victor paid the driver and climbed down from the cab. He scanned the sidewalk until he spotted Chris waving at him from the entrance. Next to him stood Yuri, a scowl on his face as he typed furiously on his phone, paying no mind to either of them.

When he approached, Chris let out a whistle as he eyed him up and down. “Trying to get lucky tonight, are we?”

“Oh shush, I went to see my parents like this. There is nothing scandalous about it,” Victor said, laughing at his friend’s antics, before greeting him with a hug and eyeing Yuri, who was still ignoring them, curiously.

“I invited the brat to get inside faster,” Chris said with a wink. “He is the one with the contacts.”

Yuri growled at them, finally putting his phone back in his pocket. “That’s right, and as soon as we’re through the door, I don’t know you.”

Chris held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, tiger.”

“You know we appreciate this, Yuri,” Victor told him with a warm smile and a hand on the youth’s shoulder.

Yuri shrugged it off, a small blush painting his cheeks. “Yeah, whatever, old man, let’s just get inside.”

And with that they made their way to the front of the line, the bouncer taking one look at Yuri and letting them through without a second glance, much to the indignation of those still standing in line.

They went to drop off their coats and this time it was Victor who whistled when he saw the deep V of Chris’ neckline. “And I’m the one trying to get lucky tonight?”

Chris shot him a sultry look through his eyelashes. “Well, I have to show off what nature has given me, no?”

Victor shook his head a little at his friend’s words, but after dropping off his coat and putting the locker key in his pocket he followed Chris into the main room.

The club was beyond packed, which was no surprise given the hour, though Victor thought it would be anything short of a miracle to find a table in this place. Yuri was nowhere to be seen and Victor hurried after Chris, else he would lose his friend in the crowd as well.

As they walked they caught the attention of several women and even a few men. Victor ignored them for the most part. He knew he and Chris were fairly attractive, drawing attention to themselves even when they were at work, walking around airports and greeting passengers at the beginning or end of a flight. They were no strangers to receiving letters sent to them through the flight attendants or handed hurriedly on their way to the boarding gate. Some people would even try to give them food or drinks, which they had to decline for security reasons.

Sometimes Victor made the best out of it and enjoyed every second of it. Other times, he wished he could just blend in a little bit better and go about his day in peace.

They made their way down to the dancefloor, intent on going to the bar and try to find seating room there, if not just a couple of drinks. They were almost there when Victor spotted a table that seemed to have been abandoned, a couple of half-empty drinks rapidly dripping condensation onto the dark surface of the table.

“Chris!” Victor called out, wrapping his hand around the crook of his friend’s elbow and pointing at the table.

Chris’ eyes followed his finger, spotting the table and breaking into a grin when he spotted the table. He made a beeline to the booth and sat down, urging his friend to do the same.

“What do you want, Victor?” Chris asked.

Victor sat down on the other side of the booth and shrugged, relaxing onto the seat. “Whatever you have in mind. You’re the one paying for the first round anyway.”

“You really have selective memory, you know?” Chris told him but left in direction of the bar anyway, intent on getting their drinks.

Victor just smiled to himself, turning to look around the club.

A quick glance at the DJ booth revealed where Yuri had gone off to. He stood next to the tall, brooding DJ with dark hair with an undercut. The blond seemed to be talking the DJ’s ear off, but when he noticed Victor’s eyes on him he stopped long enough to flip the pilot off, turning around to avoid his eyes. Victor chuckled, knowing not to take offense from Yuri’s brash behavior.

He then focused on the dancefloor, trying to spot someone worth dancing with. It was not very easy, with how crowded it was, bodies standing as close as possible, leaving no gaps for him to spy any faces. There was even a group of girls next to them dancing almost on top of the table with how close they were.

While he was distracted a bottle of vodka was set in front of him along with a couple of glasses. He shot Chris an incredulous look.

“You said you were paying for the first round,” he reminded his friend, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, the first bottle,” Chris declared, pouring them both a measure and handing Victor his glass.

“Just make sure to stop around,” Victor checked his watch, “2 a.m.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Chris said, waving him off and raising his glass. “To Aeroflot’s best-looking pilots!”

Victor toasted him with a laugh, downing his glass in one gulp. The alcohol slid comfortingly down his throat and into his belly, warming him from the inside. Chris then engaged him in conversation and they took turns pouring each other shots of the clear liquor as the night progressed.

He was about to pour the next shot when he felt eyes on him. He caught fast movement from the corner of his eye, but when he looked up and towards the dancefloor he could only see the same girls, too drunk on alcohol and on the music to pay attention to him.

The sensation was gone, so Victor focused on pouring the next shot, handing Chris his glass back. They toasted again, and Victor downed the second shot, licking his lips clean of any stray drops.

Not a minute later, there was a slender, Asian-looking, young man approaching their table with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, this table is already taken,” he explained, pointing at the forgotten orange glasses at the edge of the table where Chris had moved them.

“Oh! We are very sorry, we thought the previous occupants had already left,” Victor explained, already looking around for another place to sit, though he could not find any.

“It’s okay, we did kind of lost track of the table while dancing,” the young man explained, pointing behind him at the group of girls.

“You’re with those girls?” asked Chris, grabbing the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.

The stranger turned around in surprise to look at the group of girls dancing close to them, before turning to them in alarm.

“Oh no, we just met them here. I actually just came with one other friend,” he explained, and then, after looking around the club, added, “actually, if it is just the two of you, we can share the table.”

“You sure?” asked Victor. “We don’t want to impose.”

The young man waved him off before offering his hand to shake. “It’s not a problem at all, my name is Phichit Chulanont.”

Victor was just about to introduce himself when there was a loud commotion in the dance floor. The girls next to the table stepped back, bumping into the table in an attempt to make way, while more people on the opposite side stepped back as well to make a circle in the middle, where there was something going on that had everyone clapping and cheering. Chris was quick to grab the bottle of vodka before it tumbled over, settling it back down on the table steadily.

Curious, Victor kneeled on top of his seat, using his height to its full advantage to look into the circle of people. Right in the middle stood another Asian-looking guy, but while Phichit had a caramel bronze to his skin, this man was much paler, and his eyes slightly more slanted. The crowd cheered around him as he began breaking into an incredibly sensual dance number. His shirt had been unbuttoned to show a generous amount of skin, and his sleeves were rolled up, showcasing his elegant forearms as his hips rotated along with the music, his hands coming down his chest to caress his body. The people around him cheered as he spun around, dropping low only to come back up with a decadent body wave.

He must have felt Victor’s eyes on him, because his eyes snapped up and Victor let out a gasp. It was the Japanese guy from the airport, Yuuri. Or at least he looked like him. The Yuuri he had known during those brief minutes back in Japan had been shy and adorable, flustering at Victor’s every word. He could not imagine someone that pure throwing such sultry looks at him.

“Wow, that’s hot,” Chris breathed next to his ear, having stood to look at the spectacle himself. “And he seems interested in you. You should go, you know?”

Victor could only gape, while his friend gave him a push forward. Victor stumbled down from the booth, and upon noticing him, the crowd started pulling him in, chanting cheers when the Yuuri-look-alike took Victor by the wrist and pulled him close, placing his hands around his waist.

Next thing Victor knew he was dancing alongside this attractive almost-stranger, who seemed intent on dancing as close as possible to him, while the crowd cheered on around them. Standing this close, there was no way this was not the Yuuri he had met at the airport. He had the same blue-framed glasses from before on, and the alcohol-induced blush on his face was almost identical to the one he got when Victor asked him to call him by his first name. His eyes would not leave Victor’s face though, and that was a curious change from before.

“Yuuri?” he asked, but he apparently did not manage to make himself be heard over the music, because Yuuri continued dancing as if he had heard nothing.

Figuring they could talk later, Victor gave as much as he took, matching the young man in front of him through every turn and every step. Halfway through the song he found himself laughing, enjoying himself more than he had hoped to when he agreed to go out with Chris.

Talking of which, his friend tapped his shoulder, a silent request to dance with the young Japanese man that was absolutely killing it on the dance floor. He stepped back and watched as Chris and Yuuri danced, breaking out into ridiculous choreographies, trying to out-dance each other while the people around them joined in their fun. Victor laughed and clapped along to their antics, rolling his own sleeves up as he began to overheat surrounded by so many people.

When the song was over, Chris admitted defeat, clapping a hand over Yuuri’s in a handshake, and pulling him into a hug that allowed him to flash-grope the Japanese man’s butt, making him jump. Then Chris turned to Victor, sent him a wink and pushed Yuuri back into Victor’s arms without any protest.

The next song was a racier number, which had the young Japanese man grinding down on Victor, with so much sensuality that he even managed to make the experienced pilot blush. The girls around them exploded into cheers and after recuperating from the shock, Victor grabbed Yuuri’s waist, his hands dangerously low as he pulled him closer to him, Yuuri’s arms wrapping around his neck, as they danced front to front, so impossibly close that Victor could smell the fruity taste of a mixed drink on the other man’s breath. Yuuri’s eyes were smouldering as they stared up at Victor’s, only to drop momentaneously down to his lips, his tongue coming out to wet his own bitten-red ones, making Victor’s breath hitch.

That song suddenly ended, however, and Yuuri was tugged away from him by Phichit, who Victor guessed was the friend he had come with. They seemed to be going back to the table so Victor followed after them, slightly disappointed. Yuuri was a great dancer.

“I leave you alone two seconds and those girls get you completely smashed,” Phichit murmured to a giggling Yuuri, who could only cling to his friend as he was dragged into the booth and pushed to sit at the table.

Chris was gone, probably still dancing somewhere in the dance floor and, judging from what he was hearing, Phichit was having a hard time getting Yuuri to sit upright so that he could go get him some water. Victor slid around the other side of the booth, helping hold Yuuri in a sitting position.

“I’ll look after him while you find that water,” he told Phichit, leaning over Yuuri to be heard.

Yuuri must have liked this very much because he clung to his neck with a giggle.

Phichit looked at the exchange with exasperation, grimacing in apology at Victor. 

“Are you sure? He can be a handful.”

Victor waved him off. “Go, I’ll keep him here.”

“I’ll be right back,” Phichit said before dashing away into the crowd.

Victor sighed, looking down at the giggling mess clinging to his neck. He maneuvered him until his back was against the cushions and he could hold himself up with minimal help of Victor’s shoulder. His hands twitched like he wanted to wrap them around Victor’s neck once more, though he did not try it again.

“Stay like that, Yuuri,” he said. “Your friend will bring you some water soon.”

“How do you know my name?” Yuuri slurred, confusion washing over his face.

“You told me,” Victor replied, smiling at the confirmation that it was indeed the guy from the airport, while watching as Yuuri’s frown deepened.

“I don’t remember,” he replied, before the frown turned into a full-blown smile. “You know, you look a lot like a pilot that helped me in the airport.”

Victor opened his mouth to say something but before he could, Yuuri continued talking.

“His hair was the same color as yours,” he continued, “is it silver?”

“Platinum,” Victor corrected with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, platinum!” Yuuri agreed, looking at Victor with awe. “It looked so soft!”

“And his eyes,” Yuuri continued, his eyes far away and dreamy. “They were impossibly blue, like yours.”

Victor smiled amused as Yuuri went on and on about this pilot who was the same person as the one sitting next to him. So he does not recognize me at all, huh?

“And his butt was perfect,” Yuuri stopped at this, and looked at Victor in alarm. For a second Victor thought Yuuri had finally recognized him, but his next words shot down any hope he might have had. “Don’t tell him though! That would be embarrassing!”

Victor chuckled at that but Yuuri began pulling at his shirt until he promised he will not tell himself that Yuuri thought his butt was perfect.

“I won’t tell” he promised, and that seemed to placate the other man enough to sit back down and stare at the dancefloor through unfocused eyes.

Victor was starting to get worried when he saw Phichit making his way back to the table, a bottle of water in hand. He slid back into the booth to the other side of Yuuri, uncapping the bottle and holding it against his friend’s lips.

“Thanks for watching over him,” Phichit tells him before coaxing Yuuri to drink more of the water.

“It was no problem at all,” Victor replied. “We actually met before, at the airport.”

At his words Phichit’s hand slipped, tilting the bottle upward too much and causing Yuuri to choke on the water, some drops dribbling down his chin and into his shit.

“Sorry, Yuuri,” he told his friend worriedly, slapping his back gently to help him breathe. Then he focused his eyes back on Victor, an incredulous look on his face. “You’re the pilot.”

Victor’s face morphed into a combination of a grimace and a smile. “That’s me.”

“Phichit I told you to stop talking about the pilot,” Yuuri slurs between them, having collapsed to lay down on top of the table, his arms folded under his forehead as a makeshift pillow. He groaned before adding, “I don’t feel so good.”

Victor saw more than heard Phichit’s mouth form the words “Oh my god” before grabbing his friend from under the armpits and hauling him up. Yuuri clung to his friend, as Phichit dragged him out of the booth.

“Let’s get you back home, Yuuri,” Phichit urged, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist to keep him upright.

“Wait!” Victor exclaimed, digging into his pocket for his wallet and a pen. Taking out one of his business cards he scribbled something on the back of it and handed it to Phichit. “Make sure to give him that, please.”

Phichit nodded, putting it into his pocket before breaking into an amused grin. “He is not going to believe this happened in the morning.”

“Don’t embarrass him too much,” Victor told Phichit, but the young man just laughed, waving goodbye at him and taking Yuuri with him.

A couple minutes later someone slid into the seat next to him and uncapped the bottle of vodka, pouring themselves a glass and tossing it back. When Victor looked, he saw that Yuri had come to sit next to him and was pouring himself another glass.

“Was it my imagination or was that the Japanese loser you were so smitten with from the airport?” he asked.

Victor beamed at him. “Yes, it was!”

Yuri shot him a disgusted look. “I saw him and you on the dancefloor. You guys are gross.”

Victor chuckled and poured himself a glass. “One day you’ll understand, Yura.”

“Don’t treat me like a kid,” Yuri all but growled at him before leaving as abruptly as he appeared and disappearing into the crowd.

Victor allowed himself one last wistful look at the door, before leaving the table in search of Chris.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Sorry for the long wait. I have been trying to write for AGES, but I've been blocked af, and even though I was forcing myself to write it was sounding awful. It still isn't my greatest work but it is just a necessary transition chapter for things to get more interesting.
> 
> Thank you all who have been leaving messages! I do read them all and appreciate them tons, despite not replying. I am trying to keep myself from indulging in messages because before I focused too much on them and not enough on updating so. Yeah. But thanks a lot for the continued support, you're the ones that keep me writing! 
> 
> There is another set of notes at the end but... why are you still here? 
> 
> Happy reading!

Yuuri woke up to a world of pain.

On his bedside table his alarm clock blared right next to his ear, causing his head to feel as if his brain was rattling inside his skull with every sharp ring. He tried to turn it off, but the coordination of his limbs was still affected by the previous night so he only managed to bang his wrist against the edge of the table, hitting the small, protruding bone there and making him whimper as his misery only managed to increase.

In a last-ditch attempt to make it stop, Yuuri shoved his head under his pillow, holding it over his ears while he suffered silently, cursing clubs and alcohol, but most importantly—his so-called best friend. The sharp pain behind his eyeballs, paired with the queasiness in his belly, not to mention the arid desert that used to be the surface of his tongue were sufficient evidence to conclude that Phichit had not kept his promise of maintaining him away from alcohol. He could not remember much of last night, but if something was certain is that he had gotten smashed, and probably made an ass out of himself in the process. 

He groaned at the thought, trying to bury his face further into the mattress. Maybe it would suffocate him and take him out of his misery.

While he waited for inspiration to get off the bed to strike him he went through the vague images of his dream from last night. Usually Yuuri could not remember the dreams he had, but this one had been more vivid, probably because it had featured the club from the night before. In it, Yuuri conjured a more relaxed image of Victor, the pilot that had helped him at the airport—his hair falling softly over one eye and his clothes casually smart and chic. The rest of the dream is a bit fussy, but he had the faint memory of hands holding his waist and of the feel of a strong chest pressed against his. It seemed like a nice dream, so Yuuri held his eyes closed, trying to fall back into it and escape the blaring of his alarm trying to coax him back to his pain-laden reality.

It was not until someone next door was banging their palm against the wall and yelling in very angry Russian that Yuuri figured had something to do with the racket at 7 a.m. next door that he had the courage to lift the pillow from his head to actually see where the clock was and turn it off.

After a couple of seconds fumbling with the clock, Yuuri finally found the turn off button and sighed as the room was consequently enveloped in blessed silence.

He was putting the clock back on the bedside table when he noticed an unfamiliar card sitting on the wooden surface. Setting the clock down, his fingers reached for the card and brought it closer to his face.

One side was completely white, a navy blue winged logo taking up most of the space on the center of the card. Underneath Yuuri managed to make out the words _Aeroflot Airlines_. Wrapped around the logo, there was a messily handwritten message. Yuuri squinted, forcing his sleep-laden eyes to focus on the words, his heart skipping a beat as he read them.

 

_Call me when you wake up :)_

 

Yuuri hurried to turn the card over in his hand. The other side was blue, with the same logo on a smaller scale and in a gold color on top and white lettering underneath.

 

**Victor Nikiforov**

Pilot  
[v.nikiforov@aeroflotteam.ru](mailto:v.nikiforov@aeroflotteam.ru)

+7 812 273-04-09

 

The card slipped from his fingers and fell down onto the sheets.

“PHICHIIIIIIIT!!!!!”

Next door the banging against the wall started again, and this time the unfamiliar words in Russian sounded even angrier.

 

 

A quick look around the room revealed that Yuuri was alone. Once he managed to stop glaring at the business card on his bedside table and succeeded at rising from the bed without the room spinning in rapid circles around him, he went to investigate around the dorm. Phichit’s bed was neatly made and there was no sight of him in the bathroom or in the small kitchenette.

Figuring he must have gone training—as Yuuri had planned to do before he was incapacitated by tequila—he did not even try to call his cell phone. He would not see it until much later anyway. Instead, he went to the kitchenette and downed an entire 1 liter bottle of water, some of it escaping his lips and dripping down his chin to wet the neck of his shirt.

It was the same shirt from the night before, and it was positively filthy, so Yuuri removed it along with his underwear, thanking Phichit's good sense to take his pants off, and went to take a well-needed shower. He sighed and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes as the warm water washed over him and soothed his aching body, washing off the sweat from last night. After a couple of minutes of just standing under the hot spray, he reached for the shampoo and lathered his hair, the pressure of his fingers on his scalp easing his headache a little bit. He rinsed his hair and finished cleaning himself before stepping out of the shower and into a fluffy towel. A short search inside the medicine cabinet in the bathroom revealed a bottle of aspirin of which he took two pills and swallowed them dry.

Back in the room, Yuuri rummaged through his suitcase, taking out a pair of soft, dark-grey sweatpants and a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt. He put them on, throwing a sweatshirt over his head as well. He sat on the bed to put some thick socks on his feet.

The Aeroflot business card sat ominously on his bedside table, seemingly staring up at him. Before he could question it any further, Yuuri shoved into the pocket of his pants and stood from the bed.

He grabbed his coat and threw that on as well just before stepping into his shoes and leaving in search of Phichit.

He found his friend a few minutes later down at the rink, practicing his routine for the upcoming competitions. The second half of one of the songs of Phichit’s favorite musical was playing on the speakers, and the Thai skater was simply going through the presentation part of the routine, doing one-turn jumps or even skipping them all together. Yuuri itched to get on the ice with him, but his head and stomach disagreed with the idea. He could seriously injure himself if a wave of dizziness hit him in the middle of a jump so he was not risking it. Instead, he went to stand right at the barrier, mesmerized by Phichit’s newest routine.

Phichit must have felt eyes on him because as soon as the music was over he waived at Yuuri, skating his way to his friend.

“So Sleeping Beauty is back to the land of the living,” Phichit teased, which earned him an unamused look from Yuuri.

Yuuri tried to glare at him harder but gave up with a sigh. It was impossible to be angry at Phichit’s beaming face.

“I missed practice,” he stated sadly. “It’s all your fault. You promised not to let me drink so much!”

Phichit had the decency to look embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“It really was not my fault. I left you alone two seconds and next time I know those girls had you drunk out of your mind,” he chuckled, “but don’t worry, I told Celestino that you caught a bug in the plane and could not make it this morning, so you’re in the clear."

Yuuri let out a long, relieved sigh. He did not want to start his exchange program off the wrong foot and lose his scholarship.

“Thanks, Phichit. I owe you one,” Yuuri told his friend.

Phichit shook his head. “Don’t worry I owed _you_ for last night. I really did not expect everything to get so out of control.”

“Oh! Talking of which,” Yuuri started, taking out the business card from his pocket and waving it in front of his friend’s face, “what is this?! What happened last night, Phichit?!”

Phichit laughed, clapping his hands in glee while his friend let out dying whale noises on the other side of the barrier.

“Well, let me start from the beginning,” he said, taking a big breath.

“Those girls that bumped into our table got you smashed enough to let loose on the dance floor, like, really loose.”

He wiggled his eyebrows.

The pained noises coming out of Yuuri’s mouth increased in volume.

“I guess you got thirsty because you went back to the table and then came back to tell me it was occupied. While I went to sort that out, those girls gave you even more tequila. Somehow you ended up dancing with one of the handsome dudes that had taken our table,” Phichit said, smile twitching at the corners, while Yuuri covered his face in mortification.

 “Wait, there’s more. I went to rescue you soon after but since I had offered joint-occupancy of the table, Handsome Dude came back to the table with us. He was kind enough to look after your drunken self while I went to get you some water, and when I came back you were babbling away at him, about who knows what.”

“And then?” Yuuri asked, his forehead pressed against the top of the barrier, and his hands covering his head.

“He kind of outed himself as that pilot you talked about before, which is a crazy coincidence if you ask me. You were not feeling good though, so I decided to take you home, but before we could go, he stopped me to give me that card for you,” Phichit continued.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri exclaimed, feeling his entire body burn with shame as he slid down from the barrier and onto the floor. He was going to die of embarrassment at the young age of twenty-three and no one could help him.

“So,” Phichit said, leaning over the barrier to stare at his crouching friend. “I take it you haven’t called him.”

“Of course not!” Yuuri squeaked, face still buried in his hands.

Phichit went around the barrier, taking his skate guards from the edge of the barrier and sitting down on the bench to put them on the blades.

“I think you should,” he said. “He looked genuinely worried about your well-being. And he is so ridiculously good-looking I would be failing as your best friend if I didn’t tell you to go for it.”

Yuuri shook his head vehemently, not taking his hands away from his face.

“No way, that was too humiliating. He must think I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit said, peeling Yuuri’s hands away from his face and forcing him to look directly at his friend’s gentle smile. “If he thought that then why did he give you his card, huh?”

“Because he is too nice?” mumbled Yuuri, his eyes not meeting Phichit’s.

“I think it’s something else, Yuuri,” Phichit countered.

Yuuri was about to deny his friend’s words when their stomachs grumbled in unison. They looked at each other startled, before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“Come on,” Phichit said, pulling Yuuri to sit next to him on the bench and untying his skates to slip into a pair of sneakers. “Let’s go find breakfast.”

“Phichit?” Yuuri asked, while Phichit shoved his skates into his bag.

His friend looked up at him in question. Yuuri fidgeted with the card on his hands.

“Do you think a ‘thank you’ text would be fine?”

Phichit beamed.

“Of course, Yuuri.”

 

 

 

Victor woke up to the shrill beeping of his phone telling him he had a new message. He glared at the offending device with one eye, refusing to open the other one, and hating himself for always forgetting to turn it off when he goes out drinking. He tried to ignore his phone and go back to sleep, but the damage was done, and his brain was wide awake.

There was the soft pitter-patter of paws on hardwood and before he knew it Makkachin, his dog, was climbing on the bed and showering his face in slobbering kisses.

“Good morning to you too, Makka,” Victor muttered, rubbing the dog behind the ears.

He sat up and the dog found a place to lie down next to him, his head on his thigh where Victor had easy access to pet his head and neck while he perused his phone with the other hand. He went through a couple of messages from his parents from the day before, some blurry pictures from last night from Chris, and one curt message from Yuri, reminding the pilot to be on time to the flight that day or else he would personally murder him.

And then there was a new chat notification from an unknown number.

 

_9:03 a.m. - Hello, this is Yuuri Katsuki. I am the guy you helped get on the flight from Tokyo to St. Petersburg,_ _and we met again last night at the club_

_9:03 a.m. - My friend told me that you took care of me for a while._ _I’m very embarrassed, but thank you so much for that. Sorry I keep inconveniencing you_

_9:04 a.m. I won’t bother you anymore now. Thank you so much again!_

 

Victor felt his face break into a large grin as he finished reading.

“Makkachin, he texted me!” Victor exclaimed, gathering the dog into a bone-crushing hug, and rubbing his cheek against the curly, chocolate fur on the dog’s back.

Makkachin whined, squirming away from his owner’s grasp and sitting away from him with a disgruntled huff, while Victor re-read the messages, frowning at the screen.

“Why does he sound so somber, though?” he wondered, holding a finger up to his lip. “It was one of the most fun nights of my life.”

A second later he began to type on his phone, a grin on his face. He clicked ‘send’ once he finished, and set his phone back down on the bedside table. He yawned, lifting his arms over his head in a wide stretch and kicked the bedsheets away from his body.

He stood from the bed and went to grab his bed robe, putting it over his boxer-clad body. He started walking towards the door, but stopped suddenly, returning to grab his phone and after seeing he had not received any new texts, he put it inside the pocket of his robe. On the doorway, he patted his thigh and called Makkachin’s name, the dog jumping down from the bed to follow his master, tail wagging.

“Let’s get ourselves some breakfast,” Victor told the dog, heading towards the kitchen.

He set the coffee machine and filled a bowl with kibble for Makkachin while that was going, setting it down on the floor for the dog to enjoy. Once his coffee was done, he added milk and copious amounts of sugar, and fixed himself a bowl of cereal.

He was about to take his first spoonful of cereal when he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

_9:16 a.m. – Hi Yuuri! I’m Victor from the airport!_ _What do you mean?_ _It was one of the best nights of my life!_

_It was great meeting you again, and it looked like you were having fun too!_ _o(^_ _▽_ _^)o_

_9:18 a.m. –Sorry, I actually don’t actually remember most of it… (_ _๑_ _′°︿°_ _๑_ _)_

 

Victor let out a chuckle at the response, followed by a soft sigh. Yuuri had really been completely out of it, huh? He decided to poke a bit of fun at the other male.

 

_9:19 a.m. – Yeah, I bet. You looked pretty_ _smashed (^_^;)_

 

He waited for Yuuri to reply, his phone propped in front of him against his coffee mug as he ate his cereal. The chat window showed Yuuri typing for a while, stop and try again multiple times before another message came through.

 

_9:25 a.m. – That is so embarrassing.... I’m so sorry! You must think I’m an idiot…_

_9:27 a.m. – No way! You remember Georgi? He starts CRYING after 3 drinks!_

_(*_ _￣_ _m_ _￣_ _)_ _Compared to him you are an amazing drunk! o(^_ _▽_ _^)o_

 

Having finished his cereal, Victor leisurely drank his coffee, phone in hand watching Yuuri type and delete his message many times again before replying, a smile on his face.

 

_9:30 a.m. - …thanks, I guess?_

_9:32 a.m. – and you have better dance moves ;)_

 

Victor put his plate and mug in the sink and rinsed them off. He went back to his bedroom to put on some clothes and trade his robe for a coat. He put on his shoes and went to grab Makkachin’s leash from the coat closet next to the door.

As soon as the dog saw the leash, he began to wag his tail and bark excitedly at Victor, jumping around his owner and almost making him trip.

Victor laughed. “Ready to go out, Makkachin?" 

The dog barked his response, allowing Victor to clip the leash to his collar.

Victor’s phone vibrated in his pocket. When he opened it he saw a blushing emoticon from Yuuri. He smiled, and after seeing the dots signaling the other party was typing he pocketed the phone.

Man and dog went out of the apartment and down to the street for a bit of exercise. They jogged around the neighborhood, taking the more scenic route next to the canal. The weather was chilly; the sky grey and the trees bare, but it was still better than jogging with buildings on both sides.  They ran until Victor broke into a sweat and Makkachin’s tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth, returning to the apartment at a slower pace.

After his run, Victor unclipped Makkachin’s leash, letting the dog dash towards his bowl of water, and went to take a shower. He checked his phone but to his disappointment there was no further response from Yuuri. Worried, he typed and sent another message, before dropping his phone on the bed and headed to the bathroom, haphazardly peeling his clothes off on the way.

Stepping into the shower, Victor allowed the warm water to really wake him up. He stood under the spray for a few minutes without doing anything, just letting the water cascade over him as he mentally went over the previous night.

It really had been great meeting with Yuuri again. The young man had not left his thoughts since he last saw him boarding the plane, and while knowing that they were in the same city, the probability of meeting again was very slim, if not practically inexistent. He would have to thank Chris for taking him out last night, despite his friend drinking pretty much half a bottle of vodka and who knows what else by himself and Victor having to drop him off at his apartment at 2 a.m. to make sure he got home alright.

Victor had not been too drunk, more intoxicated on the memory of a certain Japanese man who had danced so intimately with him than from failing to keep up with Chris’ drinking. Halfway through the night Yuri came back to their table, only to steal the bottle away from them, preventing them from drinking any more. After that Victor and Chris danced together, eventually finding more dance partners for the night before the hour got too late. None compared to Yuuri, neither in skill nor attractiveness, and Victor did not feel inclined to dance as closely with them as he had with the Japanese man. But he still had fun, cutting the night short as soon as he saw Chris stumbling slightly on the dance floor.

Victor reached for the shampoo, lathering his hair and chuckling at the memory of Chris clinging to him as he led him out of the club, the first officer not missing the chance to place his hand on Victor’s butt rather than his waist, as he bemoaned his bad luck at finding someone to have some fun with that night.

Despite being a very attractive man, with bright green eyes surrounded by impossibly-long lashes and a lean but strong built, Chris tended to come off too strong, which only worsened the more he drank, which scared a lot of people away.

He was similar in that way to Yuuri, who definitely became flirtier and more confident the more he drank, if last night served as evidence to the fact, though Chris’ antics would have to be multiplied exponentially in comparison.

He still got laid pretty frequently, Victor mused, having rinsed his hair and moving on to clean his body, so he must have been doing something right.

Victor stepped out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around himself. He went to the bathroom mirror, toweling his hair dry with a smaller towel and wrapping it around his shoulders.

He combed his hair back neatly and away from his face, using a small amount of wax to keep it in place. He favored a softer hairstyle on his free days, with hair falling over his face giving him a more mysterious look, but also helping to hide his wide forehead. At work, however, regulations had to be kept, and the hat helped with the forehead problem anyways, so he was not too self-conscious about it.

Back in his room, Victor took the freshly laundered uniform out of his closet, hanging it over one of the doors while he put on his shirt and underwear. He took the uniform down from the hangers and put it on, adjusting the sleeves so that the seam faced straight down and the shoulders were straight.

In the mirror he noticed Makkachin getting on the bed and nosing at something. Belatedly remembering he left his cellphone there he rushed towards his dog, taking the cellphone away from under Makkachin’s snout before the dog could put it in its mouth.  That’s when he noticed the notification light blinking on and off. He tucked his hat under his arm while he leaned forward to grab the device.

He had a new message.

Victor hurried to unlock the phone, clicking on the notification and letting it take him to the messaging app.

_9:32 a.m. – also, you have better dance moves ;)_

_9:37 a.m. -_ (*艸*)

_10:43 a.m. – I would like to see them again sometime :)_

_11:05 a.m. – maybe we could do something else when you’re in town again (*_ _´ω｀_ _*)_

 

 Victor let out a sound of triumph at the message, followed by a relieved sigh. He thought he had scared Yuuri away, but it seemed like they were on the same page and still interested in keeping the conversation going.

He glanced at the clock on his phone and jumped, noticing he was going to be late if he did not leave for the airport soon. He typed a quick reply and pocketed the phone, clucking his tongue at Makkachin for the dog to follow him out of the bedroom.

Looking at the mirror next to the door he placed his hat, adjusting it until it sat perfectly upon his head. He grabbed his dark glasses from the side table and put them in his uniform pocket. Then, he turned towards his dog and crouched down to rub at Makkachin’s neck while the dog whined sadly.

“Be good now, Makkachin. Mom’s going to come for you later, okay?”

The dog pawed at Victor’s knees sadly, but did not try to stop him when he stood back up. He still whined a little bit, watching as his owner put on his shoes and grab his small luggage.

Victor gave Makkachin’s head one last rub before opening the door and stepping through, locking it behind himself.

 

 

 

Yuuri and Phichit decided to have breakfast at a café near campus that Phichit raved about. Their pastries were apparently “to die for” according to his friend, and the breakfast options were good for the price, which suited their student budgets perfectly. After some deliberation, Phichit ordered ham and cheese omelets for the two of them, with an assortment of pastries to share.

As soon as the waitress finished pouring their coffee, Yuuri took out his phone and the card, saving the number in it and opening the messaging app.

“What should I even say?” he asked as he stared into the blank screen, eyebrows furrowed.

Phichit was doctoring his coffee with creamer and sugar when he replied. “Just introduce yourself and say you’re thankful for his help? I don’t know.”

“Ugh, you’re not helpful at all,” Yuuri huffed, but began typing anyway. “I should also apologize for the whole thing.”

“Judging by how into the dance he was, I don’t think you were inconveniencing him,” Phichit offered, just as the waitress came with their plates, setting a basket full of pastries between them. “Besides, at least you were not stripping down to your underwear like that time in—“

“PHICHIT!” exclaimed a scandalized Yuuri, eyeing the retreating waitress.

Phichit laughed, waving his hands placatingly. “She cannot even understand us… I think.”

“Still,” Yuuri replied with a glare that was softened by the rosy blush covering his cheeks in embarrassment. “We said we would not speak of that night ever again.”

Phichit grinned unapologetically at Yuuri.

Both skaters tucked into their omelets. Just as promised, their breakfasts were tasty and filling. The amount of ham inside the omelet was generous and the cheese was runny, just like Yuuri liked it. He grabbed a croissant from the pastry basket and smeared butter and jam on a piece, closing his eyes in ecstasy at the delicate taste.

“Phichit, this is amazing,” Yuuri moaned, grabbing another bite of croissant.

“Told you,” Phichit said, taking a raisin-studded Danish for himself.

“I think I can almost forgive you for last night, for taking me here,” Yuuri said, licking his fingers clean of crumbs.

“Hey, one tries,” Phichit said sheepishly, biting into his Danish.

Yuuri was reaching for another pastry when his cellphone vibrated on the table. Both men stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the device. On the screen the message notification was clearly visible.

“Did he reply?” Phichit asked, curiously leaning forward on the chair, barely containing himself from grabbing Yuuri’s phone.

Yuuri dropped the pastry on his plate, and after licking the powdered sugar from his fingers he reached for his phone, reading intently.

After a few seconds, Phichit could not contain himself anymore and started making grabby hands at Yuuri until his friend wordlessly passed him the phone. He flipped it over, eyes quickly scanning over the text on the screen.

“See? I told you he was not bothered by it!” Phichit cheered, handing the phone back.

“Maybe he is just being polite,” Yuuri mumbled, fingers hovering over the screen without typing. While Victor seemed to have had fun the night before, Yuuri merely hoped it had not been at his expense since he could not remember much of it, to his eternal mortification.

Phichit rolled his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith. Keep the conversation going.”

Yuuri looked at his friend for a moment, as if debating his words in his head, before looking back down and typing a short message.

He had just set his phone down when it vibrated again. He hurried to open the message and let out a long wail as soon as he read it, his head dropping to the table next to his plate.

“What’s wrong?” Phichit asked, around a mouthful of pastry.

“He is mocking me,” Yuuri mumbled against the table, his voice muffled by the wood. Victor had noticed how drunk he had been and found it amusing. He was totally making fun of him. This had been a terrible idea.

Since the hand holding his phone had been left within reach, Phichit took the phone from him and read the message, giggling when he did.

“Well, you did walk straight into that one.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t think he is trying to be mean though,” Phichit placated, handing the phone back. “Reply something.”

Yuuri raised his head again to give Phichit a long-suffering look, to which his friend countered with a bright grin.

“You just want to see the world burn,” Yuuri retorted, but was already typing out a response on his phone. He backtracked a couple of times, not sure about what he wanted to say, or if he should be saying anything at all.

The waitress had approached their table at that moment to refill their coffee cups, and Yuuri thanked her with a nod since he did not speak Russian, reaching for his cup and taking a drink from the warm liquid.

“Nah, I just want you to get laid, my friend,” Phichit stated.

Sadly, he said it while Yuuri was taking a big gulp of coffee that, at his friend’s words, went down the wrong pipe. He choked on the mouthful of coffee, coughing and spluttering loudly, making Phichit go around the table to pat him on the back, while the other customers in the café glared at their spectacle.

Yuuri took shaky inhales, and in between breaths mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “I hate you.”

“You won’t hate me when you need someone to babysit your Russian-Japanese babies,” Phichit stated with a straight face that was ruined by the upwards trembling of the corner of his mouth as he sat back down on his chair, seeing as his friend was no longer in danger of death by coffee.

“That made no sense,” Yuuri deadpanned, wiping tears from his eyes as he finished recuperating from his choking fit.

A few moments later, another reply arrived. This time Yuuri laughed when he finished reading the message. When Phichit heard him, he perked up, hand stretched forward once more. Yuuri placed the phone on his friend’s hand and watched as he began to read, the smile not leaving his face.

“Oh my god, who is Georgi?” Phichit asked, smiling as well, though his smile was a little more confused.

“One of the flight attendants,” Yuuri explained, giggling a bit. “He looked really gloomy when I met him. It’s hard to imagine him crying because he drank too much.”

Phichit hummed, handing the phone back and grabbing a cinnamon roll from the pile of pastries, biting into it and grinning at Yuuri. “Already sharing information about his friends… This is moving so fast.”

At his friend’s words, Yuuri’s face went tomato red.

“Would you stop?”

“Never.”

Yuuri tossed his crumbs at Phichit, but started on a reply anyway.

He did not have to wait long for a new response, his phone buzzing a couple of minutes later. He began blushing a bit as he read.

Phichit snatched the phone out of Yuuri’s hands to read the message.

“See? He is totally flirting with you!” Phichit exclaimed, handing the phone back to Yuuri.

“He is not!” Yuuri lamented.

“Yuuri, everyone knows you have awesome dance moves, it just takes a bit of alcohol to loosen you up enough to show them to the world,” Phichit countered. “Besides, no one who uses that many emoticons is ever _not_ interested.”

Yuuri bit his lip, staring at his phone. “You think?”

“Yuuri, this Victor dude totally wants in your pants,” replied Phichit nonchalantly, gulping down the last of his coffee and grabbing a pastry and wrapping it in a napkin before putting it in his jacket pocket.

“Phichit!” Yuuri screeched, feeling his entire face warm up even more, the blush probably moving down to cover his neck as well.

“You did not see the way he was looking at you at the club,” Phichit continued, searching his pockets for his wallet, taking it out and placing some bills on the table, and shouldering his bag. “And believe me, there was nothing polite about the way he was dancing with you.”

“Where are you going?” asked Yuuri, distracted by his friend’s motions.

“I have class,” Phichit explained apologetically. “You know how to get back from here?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Anyway, today’s my treat,” Phichit said motioning towards the money before turning to look at his friend with warm eyes, “and about that pilot… you deserve this, Yuuri.”

“Thank you, Phichit,” Yuuri replied sincerely, not really knowing exactly to which of the two statements he was referring to.

They waved at each other, Yuuri watching his friend leave from the window of the café. He took one look at his phone, sent a quick emoticon, and took another sip of coffee, hiding his smile in his cup.

 

 

 

Victor whistled a cheerful tune as he entered the airport, his luggage rolling behind him. He walked around, greeting people he knew here and there, and smiling softly at people who stood dumbfounded when looking at him as he walked among them.

He went to file his flight plan and gather his paperwork. He was just handed his documents when he felt someone come to stand next to him. When he looked to his right, he spotted his first officer, decked in his uniform and with his brand aviators firmly placed over his eyes.

“Good morning, Chris,” he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Don’t say anything,” Chris retorted.

“I wasn’t going to,” Victor said, already moving away from the desk, trusting Chris would follow.

“Have you seen Plisetsky? I didn’t even see him leave last night and he is looking fresh like a daisy,” Chris whined.

“Sucks not being young anymore, huh?” Victor said distractedly, as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

They were walking leisurely towards the departure gate, Victor having arrived early this time. Chris kept babbling about the unfairness of it all, and about how fluorescent lights should be banned from public spaces, while Victor smiled at his phone.

Noticing his friend was not listened to him, Chris turned to look at Victor with a frown.

“What is up with you?”

Victor turned towards him, a big heart-shaped smile on his face.

“Chris, my dear friend, I think I’m in love.”

 

 

 

 

 

_10:43 a.m. – I would like to see them again sometime :)_

_11:05 a.m. – maybe we could do something else when you’re in town again (*_ _´ω｀_ _*)_

_11:15 a.m. – it’s a date then_ _ヾ_ _(_ _≧∇≦_ _*)_ _ゝ_

_11:54 a.m. – I’d like that  (*^_ _▽_ _^*)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see [noenoaholi's original artwork](http://noenoaholi.tumblr.com/post/156704312148/part-1-part-2-part-3-again-i-didnt-draw-the), Yuuri is actually waking up all refreshed and stuff, but I had to change that. First, because humor at his expense; second, because no one who drinks enough to get that smashed (and mixes drinks to boot) is going to be saved from a killer hangover the next day, ok?
> 
> So, that scene with Phichit and Yuuri at the café... I HAD TO WRITE IT TWICE because it was just not flowing. I kept making Yuuri too meek and too shy. He is with his best friend for christ's sake! So I made them be a bit more sarcastic around each other, a bit modeled after my own interactions with my bff. It's not real love if there is no teasing, ok? hahaha.
> 
> It is also my headcanon that Victor used emojis in everything and for everything, which annoys everyone, especially his crew in this AU. And sorry if the timing of the messages is a bit off. I barely edited this. I just wanted to get it OUT. I was also going to edit the messages all pretty and stuff, but that was 2 weeks ago when I thought I would be done by then. Screw nice formatting. 
> 
> Until the next one!


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